Skyline
by Little Miss Sorrow
Summary: When he answered the phone he thought that there would be plenty of more times for him to hold his wife. Slight MacClaire and a dose of MacStella


Disclaimer: CSI:NY belongs to CBS.

A/N: Well I've been having writers block for a while now, finally I'm back on track. Big thnx to Stella Taylor for beaing me!

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**Skyline**  
_by: Little Miss Sorrow_

"…When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love…"  
--- Hugh Grant in Love Actually

When the first plane hit the towers, Claire had picked up her phone and called me. Usually when she phones from work I let the voice mail get it. This time I hadn't, I needed to tell her that I would be late as I was working on a difficult case, so when I answered that call I still thought I would have a chance to talk to my wife when I got home. That there would be plenty of more times for me to hold her close, to stroke her hair and lightly braid it, to kiss her and to argue with her, to just love her. I didn't expect that to be the last time I talked to her. She had said in the calm voice that was so typical of her, "Mac, honey, I won't be coming home to-night"

I had asked her if she needed to work late and if I should come and pick her up, but I could hear her shake her head

"No, Mac, I won't ever come home again, someone has crashed a plane into the tower"  
Now I could hear the panic seep into her voice and the truth hit me that she wasn't joking. The memory of that conversation will live inside of me, and like a broken record I can hear my wife's voice telling me over and over again to "find someone new to live for".

Her body wasn't found amongst what was once the most magnificent building in the world. In her grave lies a vacuum of nothing, and my beautiful wife rests on some refuse dump, and **_that_** perhaps hurts more than the fact that she's dead. I still visit the grave, and most of the times I manage to fool myself into believing that beneath the soil is Claire, beautiful as ever and restfully asleep, dreaming of the world above. I like to talk to her, tell her bits and pieces of my life, of Stella's new shirt, that Danny is getting married to the new girl Lindsay, and when I sit there I like to pretend that she answers me. Every time I leave her I would hear our last real conversation more clearly, as if stressing the point of me finding someone new to live for.

This night I tell her about the last case I worked on. I tell her about how Stella threatened to use a suspect for target practising if he didn't stop playing stupid. I smile when I continue on to explain that under normal circumstances I would have explained to Stella that forced confessions wouldn't hold much in court:  
"But you see Claire, this guy was so buried under evidence that his confession really didn't matter".

When I finish my speech I can hear her voice chuckle inside my head telling me "Seems to me you've found a new woman to live for."

And all the way home I found myself pondering the accuracy of that statement.

I re-visit every time I've talked to Claire in the years after her death in my mind and try to remember what we talked about. It's hard and many times I can't remember, but what I do remember is an increase in the number of times I mention Stella, and in what context. In the beginning it was things like "Stella and I worked a case together this week." Now I would mention everything about her "Stella and Danny danced at the last Christmas party" or "I think Stella's seeing someone" (to which I got the response 'jealous?') or how I thought that dark green blouse really looked good on her. Maybe my clever wife had always known that I had a thing for Stella… after all what would I know.

As the weeks passed after that realization I couldn't help but notice everything about Stella. How she smelled, what colour of nail-polish she wore, how satisfied she was when she caught a suspect. Or how she lit up when I entered a room, which led me into believing that Claire had known that Stella would feel the same way.

I've always been a man of action, even if I forgot that for five years, so as soon as I had my evidence I confronted Stella. I realise now that I was perhaps a bit rusty when it came to flirting but maybe that doesn't matter, Stella understood and that is what's important.

I've found someone new to hold close, someone else's hair to stroke and braid, to kiss and to argue with. Someone new just to love. Though the blonde beauty that took up the first half of my life won't be forgotten, the brunette who will take possession of the latter half is what matters now.


End file.
